Our first meeting didn't go, er, painlessly. At least for him. I was punching a ratty old punching bag when he made a bad appearance. As the bag swung left, he appeared towards my right. I punched him right into his shoulder and he fell on his ass to the hardwood floor.

"Ugh," he grunted, picking his head back up. I rolled my eyes and offered my hand. As he stood up, he rubbed his shoulder and groaned again. "Interesting first impression, huh?"

"Who are you, and why am I punching you?" I asked. I crossed my arms and stared him down. I awaited for an interesting answer which I doubted I would get.

"Chris D'amico. My contacts said you'd be working out here, and they were right," he said. The pain seemed to have subsided seeing that he had no more problems standing straight. "I've heard good things about you. You're strong, clever-"

I began to punch the bag again and listened with little interest.

"-fast, young, and, well, not hard on the eyes." I stopped and glared. "Just a compliment. I was just wondering if you would consider a job I have open."

My curiosity arose as I caught my breath. "A job? What kind?"

"Well…" he trailed. "Nothing too hard. The perks would be great, though: an apartment, free food, two grand per day."

I froze the moment he told me the little perks. I turned to him and took my first good look at him. He wasn't much taller than myself, 5'8 at most, fairly thin, and dressed like a casual businessman. "What would I have to do?"

"Few small tasks. How would you feel about rejoining high school?"

He somehow knew I was a dropout, and that creeped me out a little bit. "For two grand a day, I'd love it. There's got to be a catch."

"You'd just be doing a little investigating," he insisted. "There's someone I need to find, but I don't want them to know I'm looking for them. Are you a good actress?"

"I pretended for a moment there that I cared that I punched you," I informed. He laughed, but I didn't. "Stop beating around the bush. What- wait, this is stupid."

I grabbed my belongings eand headed out of the community center gym. Just how random is it for some kid to offer me a two thousand dollar a day job, an apartment, and food for the entire run? But, standing outside the building, I wondered where the hell am I going?

I looked onto the street and saw a long, black stretch limo. "What the-"

"Like it?" Chris asked from behind me. I jumped in place and cursed him out. "Take my offer, and this would be normal for you." I think he was trying to be slick, and it was starting to work for him.

"Does none of this seem weird to you? You know where'd I be; you know that I dropped out of high school; I'm sure it's safe to assume that you know my name-"

"-Bethany Daniels-"

"-that's freaking weird!" I exclaimed.

He tossed his hands in the air in surrender. "Fine. You can go back to living your life, living in some apartment that you are three months behind in rent. I'll go."

Chris' chauffeur opened the door to his limo and he began to step in. His words sank into my head and I shut my eyes as I felt that I was about to regret what I was going to do. "Mr. D'amico," I said. I took a breath. "Fine. But you better tell me what it is your job really involves."

Chris smiled. It was a smug one, one that said "I knew you'd come around." "Great," he told me. He motioned for me to step in the limo. "Oh, and just call me Chris."

I know that any sane person wouldn't enter a car that was owned by some teen who just offered her the strangest offer she could ever think of; when you're poor, jobless, and about to be evicted, you're not sane. As soon as I stepped in and dropped my bag on the floor, Chris handed me a manila envelope. I opened it and winced at the sight. There were several photos of me, information of my family and history, and even my medical records. "This is stalker-ish."

"It's not called stalking, it's called research. I only like to hire the best."

"Um, thank you?"

"Here's basically your job," he told me, handing me another envelope. This time they were photos of two other costumed people. "They're known as 'Kick-Ass' and 'Hit-Girl'." I had heard of Kick-Ass, but no Hit-Girl.

"Never heard of this girl," I said. "Didn't Kick-Ass die on TV or something?"

"No. Your job is to go to Westwood High School and find them. My research team has narrowed them down to there."

"Why can't you find them though? You found me."

He sighed. "Superheroes are annoyingly hard to find. Especially this stupid dynamic duo."

"What about the other one? Red Dust or something."

His smug smirk reappeared. "Red Mist."

"Yeah," I said. "What happened to that fag?"

"That fag isn't of importance right now," he said. Chris' tone was bitter now. I backed off. "I need you to find their real identities. We found some tips that might help. We're prone to believe that Hit-Girl's father is recently deceased, and that she's living with someone else. Kick-Ass, on the other hand, we're not sure. He's about my age, around seventeen or eighteen, but that's it."

I looked at the photos again. "Why do you need them?"

"Personal," he said. "Your job is to figure out who they are, and then just tell me."

I glared at him. "This is a joke, right?"

"Miss Daniels, I assure you that this is no joke," he told me as the limo pulled up to one of the most elegant building in the city. "I'm professional. If I say that I'd like you to take this job, then I'd like for you to take this job. Oh, and welcome home."

Chris and a butler lead me to the elevator as another held my things. "Miss Daniels, my I call you that?" I nodded. "Well, I must say that I lied about there being an apartment."

"What?" I snapped. "How could you-"

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. "I got you a flat."

The flat was at the doors of the elevator. I stood in awe and was speechless. "Holy crap."

Chris took my hand and lead me inside. His butlers followed him neatly. "This is yours, as long as you are sure about my offer."

I still wasn't able to speak. I looked at the flat in amazement. My mouth gaped as he lightly tapped my cheek to wake me up out of my trance. "You are sure, right?"

I snapped out of it. "Yeah. Sure."

He smiled and motioned one of his butlers to put down my bag by the dining table. "Good. Come by at eight later, and we'll talk and have dinner. I'm on top." I froze again and looked at him. "Of your flat!" he exclaimed, embarrassed. "I'm on floor thirteen, you're on twelve. See?" I laughed at his awkward smile.

"I get it. Don't worry. I'll be there."

Chris left me to my new flat, and I returned to bliss.